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Authors: David Downing
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that she and John were going away for a few weeks. Rosa looked alarmed, but only for a few seconds, and once Effi assured her that Paul, Zarah and Lothar would be staying, the girl seemed almost eager to show how unconcerned she was. She was being brave, Effi realised, and wished with all her heart that there was no need. ‘We can write to each other,’ Effi told her, ‘and perhaps even talk on the telephone. And it won’t be long.’
Russell scoured the newspapers for news of Berlin, but the only stories on offer concerned the Nazis and their offspring. There were pieces on the trial of Hitler’s surviving henchmen in Nuremberg, which was due to open on the coming Tuesday, and what seemed a highly imaginative story about a young girl named Uschi, whom the Führer had allegedly sired with Eva Braun. News of ordinary Germans, and of conditions in Germany, were conspicuous by their absence.
On Monday morning he kept his appointment at the American Embassy, and Lindenberg took him for a stroll round the sunlit Grosvenor Square. It was, the American said, the first blue sky he’d seen in more than a week.
Russell’s offer had been accepted, and a seat on Friday’s boat train provisionally booked.
‘I’ll need two,’ Russell told him, and explained about Effi. He expected objections, but the American seemed pleased that they were going together. Maybe he was a romantic. Or perhaps he thought Effi was a good influence.
‘Okay,’ Lindenberg said. ‘Once you reach Ostend, you’ll take the train to Frankfurt. From there, I don’t know. Maybe a plane into Tempelhof, maybe another train – the Russians keep changing their minds about which routes they want to obstruct. But you’ll be briefed in Frankfurt.’ He gave Russell a name and address. ‘And you can pick up your tickets here on Thursday.’
Russell thought of pointing out that the Soviets employed couriers, but decided against it. He didn’t think Lindenberg had a sense of humour, or at least not where his country and work were concerned.
After they parted, Russell walked west towards Park Lane, and then across Hyde Park towards Kensington Palace Gardens. There were several horsemen exercising their mounts on Rotten Row, and the park seemed chock-full of nannies and their infant charges – the newspapers might decry the government’s lurch towards socialism, but power and privilege seemed less than ruffled.
At the Soviet Embassy he was given ample time to study the prominently placed accounts of Dynamo’s astonishing 10-1 win over Cardiff at the weekend. When the cultural attaché finally appeared, Russell informed him that Effi would be accepting the Berlin film role, and that the two of them would be arriving in the German capital towards the end of the week. He also suggested – unnecessarily, from the look on the attaché’s face – that Comrade Nemedin should be apprised of this fact.
* * *
When Effi met Rosa at the school gates she was still wondering whether to mention the girl’s father, and her own intention of searching for traces once she reached Berlin. In the event, Rosa raised the subject herself. Another child in her class – a Jewish boy from Hungary – had only just heard that his father was still alive, and on his way to England. Which was wonderful, Rosa added, in a tone that almost suggested the opposite.
It took Effi a while to coax out the reason for this contradiction: they were half the way home when the girl stopped and anxiously asked her, ‘If my father comes back, will you still be my mama?’
* * *
Wednesday dawned wet and foggy, and though the drizzle soon turned to mist, visibility remained poor. When Russell and Paul took a train from Kentish Town shortly before noon, they were still hoping that conditions would improve, but the world further east was every bit as murky, and they made the long trek up Tottenham High Road expecting disappointment.
The game was still on. The queues were shorter than Russell
Russell scoured the newspapers for news of Berlin, but the only stories on offer concerned the Nazis and their offspring. There were pieces on the trial of Hitler’s surviving henchmen in Nuremberg, which was due to open on the coming Tuesday, and what seemed a highly imaginative story about a young girl named Uschi, whom the Führer had allegedly sired with Eva Braun. News of ordinary Germans, and of conditions in Germany, were conspicuous by their absence.
On Monday morning he kept his appointment at the American Embassy, and Lindenberg took him for a stroll round the sunlit Grosvenor Square. It was, the American said, the first blue sky he’d seen in more than a week.
Russell’s offer had been accepted, and a seat on Friday’s boat train provisionally booked.
‘I’ll need two,’ Russell told him, and explained about Effi. He expected objections, but the American seemed pleased that they were going together. Maybe he was a romantic. Or perhaps he thought Effi was a good influence.
‘Okay,’ Lindenberg said. ‘Once you reach Ostend, you’ll take the train to Frankfurt. From there, I don’t know. Maybe a plane into Tempelhof, maybe another train – the Russians keep changing their minds about which routes they want to obstruct. But you’ll be briefed in Frankfurt.’ He gave Russell a name and address. ‘And you can pick up your tickets here on Thursday.’
Russell thought of pointing out that the Soviets employed couriers, but decided against it. He didn’t think Lindenberg had a sense of humour, or at least not where his country and work were concerned.
After they parted, Russell walked west towards Park Lane, and then across Hyde Park towards Kensington Palace Gardens. There were several horsemen exercising their mounts on Rotten Row, and the park seemed chock-full of nannies and their infant charges – the newspapers might decry the government’s lurch towards socialism, but power and privilege seemed less than ruffled.
At the Soviet Embassy he was given ample time to study the prominently placed accounts of Dynamo’s astonishing 10-1 win over Cardiff at the weekend. When the cultural attaché finally appeared, Russell informed him that Effi would be accepting the Berlin film role, and that the two of them would be arriving in the German capital towards the end of the week. He also suggested – unnecessarily, from the look on the attaché’s face – that Comrade Nemedin should be apprised of this fact.
* * *
When Effi met Rosa at the school gates she was still wondering whether to mention the girl’s father, and her own intention of searching for traces once she reached Berlin. In the event, Rosa raised the subject herself. Another child in her class – a Jewish boy from Hungary – had only just heard that his father was still alive, and on his way to England. Which was wonderful, Rosa added, in a tone that almost suggested the opposite.
It took Effi a while to coax out the reason for this contradiction: they were half the way home when the girl stopped and anxiously asked her, ‘If my father comes back, will you still be my mama?’
* * *
Wednesday dawned wet and foggy, and though the drizzle soon turned to mist, visibility remained poor. When Russell and Paul took a train from Kentish Town shortly before noon, they were still hoping that conditions would improve, but the world further east was every bit as murky, and they made the long trek up Tottenham High Road expecting disappointment.
The game was still on. The queues were shorter than Russell
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